With monogamy, there must be benefits

Living together. Shacking up. Cohabitation without commitment. If interviewing is analogous to dating -- which it inevitably is -- and leaving a job is comparable to filing for divorce -- which it can be -- then doing a temp-to-perm assignment is surely the equivalent of what earlier generations called living in sin.

Six weeks ago, following a job search that lasted nearly a year, I got a call from a human resources associate at a large, prestigious company not far from my home. She wanted to know if I could do some contract work, short-term. ``Not sure whether it would turn into a permanent position," she said evasively. ``It might, it might not. We just don't know yet."

Ah, those dreaded words: We're not ready to make a commitment.

I wanted a job and I wanted to work for that company, so I said yes.

But now I realize how dubious a deal it is. Although I've been married for nearly 15 years, everything about this situation reminds me of ways in which certain single women I know describe their uneasy living arrangements.

For many couples, living together can be a mutually beneficial arrangement -- either as a test-run for marriage or as a way to avoid unwanted restrictions. But over the years I've had a few friends who aren't so happy with it. They want a commitment but have settled for a ``situation." They want a ring but have settled for a house key. For me, as for them, every day poses new challenges as to how to view my circumstances.

I never know what to call myself. I'm not the fiancée or even the girlfriend, and yet when I e-mail other members of the company on business matters, I feel like I need some form of label to explain my presence.

Consultant? Contractor? I've settled for simply listing the department below my name, and dream of the day I might have my own title and maybe even a business card: ``Mrs. Him," complete with engraved stationery.

It quickly became clear to me that I was the equivalent of a rebound relationship, hired when a previous corporate communications writer left after a long, happy stay. I could understand that the company might not be ready to make a commitment so soon after the breakup, but I wondered how long its corporate heart would take to mend. I looked around my cubicle for clues about the woman I was hoping to replace. Was she a better writer than me? A more accurate proofreader? More capable with PowerPoint?

I didn't want to seem overbearing, but a whole empty desk drawer lay in front of me, and there were certain items I needed close at hand. I stowed a box of tissues and a coffee mug in it, feeling as unauthorized to do so as the time years ago when I decided to leave an extra T-shirt and pair of underwear in a college boyfriend's bureau.

One day I became exasperated with always borrowing paper clips and staplers from the copy room. ``Do you think I could add a few items to your next supply order?" I asked the office manager timidly. ``I know this cubicle isn't really my own place, but maybe a couple of pens and a notepad?" It was like leaving my own bottle of shampoo in someone else's bathroom: personal appropriation of the space caused waves of anxiety to wash over me.

Gradually I began to settle in. Colleagues stopped treating me like a visitor who had just alit on a desk for the day. Once a co-worker suggested that I look up some information I needed on the company's internal website, and when I pointed out that as a non employee I didn't have access to it, she said encouragingly, ``Eventually you will."

Then one day my manager surprised me. ``I have a meeting with the vice presidents and legal department at 2, and I'd like you to attend it with me," she said as she breezed by. I stared after her, too startled to respond.

It was meet-my-friends time! And then that same day, she forwarded to me an invitation to an upcoming corporate outing -- six weeks away. It was like being asked home for Thanksgiving -- in October! I suppressed the urge to squeak, ``You think we'll still be together six weeks from now?"

It's true I was getting comfortable here, but at some point I need to regain my sense of self-respect. The company won't buy the cow if it can get the milk for free, or if not free, then at least at an inexpensive hourly rate. I'm going to put forth an ultimatum. I need a ring and a date -- well, a starting date, anyway -- or I'll have to start seeing other people. I mean, other companies.

Then a few days ago something wonderful happened. The same human resources associate who offered me the contract position called me and said, ``We're about to post your position on the internal listings site as a permanent job. And we want you to apply for it!"

I beamed.

It was like being unhappily single and then hearing that someone had spotted my boyfriend entering Tiffany's with his wallet in hand.

And sure enough, it was only a matter of time. The next day my manager popped the question. Naturally, my answer was yes. She didn't seem to feel the need for a champagne toast, so I had one on my own after work.

To commitments. To contracts. To legal employment. To saying, `I do.' Right on the dotted line.